


I'm Still Here

by anythingbutgrief



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutgrief/pseuds/anythingbutgrief
Summary: "A few days after Mickey Milkovich turned 30, something happened to him that had never happened before. He was awoken from a thick, dark sleep—the kind of sleep that made his mind forget he had a body, especially a body that carried so much baggage, so many scars, so many marks, so many mistakes—by the sensation of lips on his face, dropping little kisses on his cheeks, forehead, and chin." Years in the future, Mickey meets someone who changes his world.





	I'm Still Here

A few days after Mickey Milkovich turned 30, something happened to him that had never happened before. He was awoken from a thick, dark sleep—the kind of sleep that made his mind forget he had a body, especially a body that carried so much baggage, so many scars, so many marks, so many mistakes—by the sensation of lips on his face, dropping little kisses on his cheeks, forehead, and chin.

“What the fuck?” Mickey grumbled as he attempted to pry his eyes open, but since he was still at least half-asleep, it came out as more like, “Wfmph?”

“Sorry,” someone whispered. “You just looked so cute.”

Mickey finally managed to get his eyes a least a few centimeters open, but it was hard to go all the way with the force of bright sunlight beaming down on him like a cop’s flashlight. But at least now he was more aware of where he was: a stranger’s bed, in a stranger’s apartment, somewhere several miles away from the bar where he worked. Mickey immediately felt a lurching sensation in his stomach—not nausea but something close to it, a sudden pang of shame that made his organs contract like they were trying to hide behind each other, afraid of the impending consequences of Mickey’s first one-night-stand in over five years.

“What time is it?” he mumbled as he shifted onto his side, away from the distinct heaviness of the person lying beside him in bed.

“It’s about eight-thirty,” the voice from before said. “Sorry for waking you. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s fine,” Mickey replied as his eyes finally opened all the way. He was on a small-ish bed next to a window, and outside he could see several power lines stretching down from one corner of the sky to the other. On the wall of the building opposite the window, there was colorful graffiti spelling out the words, “LOVE IS ALWAYS THE ANSWER.” Mickey had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing bitterly at the irony of the situation as he put his legs on the ground, willing his feet to wake from their slumber already so he could set into motion and get the fuck out of here.

“Do you want some coffee? Tea? I have a bunch of options,” the voice behind him said hesitantly.

“No, no, thanks,” Mickey said, scanning his side of the room for any sign of his clothes. He found none.

“It’s no trouble,” the voice said. “I can make you breakfast if you want, too.”

“No, I better be going,” Mickey said, and right on cue his stomach gurgled like an infant begging for a snack. _Goddammit_ , he thought, staring down at his naked body. _For once can you just not betray me?_

“You have work early?” the voice asked. “I can give you a ride if you need it.”

Mickey didn’t have work until three, but he wasn’t about to admit that to whoever it was sitting behind him. “It’s all right,” he said. “I can make my way home. I know this neighborhood well enough.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you live nearby?”

“No,” Mickey lied. His feet had finally stopped tingling with the memory of sleep, so he got up, stumbling briefly before catching his balance. As he turned to look in other areas of the little studio apartment for his clothes, his eyes couldn’t help but land on the man still sitting on the bed, naked, with his legs bent underneath him and an inscrutable expression on his face.

_He’s cute_ , Mickey thought, and now memories of the previous night flooded his brain again. He’d been mopping up the bathroom after someone had puked all over two of the stalls—a typical night at his bar, honestly, especially during the spring and summer months—when this guy, whoever he was, came up behind him and offered to buy him a drink for his troubles. “It was my friend Natasha who made this mess, so I feel kind of responsible,” this guy had said over a pair of beers.

“She all right?” Mickey recalled himself asking, for whatever stupid reason.

“Yeah, I made sure she got home all right before coming back here,” the guy said with a warm smile. “You want another beer?”

One beer slid into another, slid into another, and then Mickey found himself walking home with this guy, falling into bed with him, ripping open a condom, and well, you know the rest.

It was good. Mickey remembered that much. He didn’t know why the rest of it was spotty. Maybe his tolerance for booze had gone down over the past year. He hadn’t been pounding beers and whiskey every day the way he used to, that was for sure.

Still, that didn’t make it any less annoying that he couldn’t find his goddamn clothes.

“Eh, you know where I threw my stuff last night?” Mickey asked, still scouring the messy floor for any sign of his underwear or shirt.

“I think I was the one that threw your clothes, actually,” the guy said. When Mickey looked up at him again, he was he was smirking a little, but somehow he didn’t look smug. He looked almost…bashful, with his long dark eyelashes fluttering repeatedly against the top of his cheeks.

“You remember where?” Mickey asked.

The guy shrugged. “Depends,” he said.

“On what?” Mickey asked.

“On if you remember my name,” the man said, his smile spreading further until it dominated his whole face, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

Mickey scoffed, even though his cheeks had started to burn in some mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “Come on, man. Just tell me where my shit is.”   
  
The guy’s smile faltered for a second before he cleared his throat and pointed in the other direction. “Near the front door. I took your stuff off as soon as we stepped inside.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said before marching over to where the guy had pointed, where all of his garments from the previous night waited in a messy pile.

“It’s Lee, by the way,” the man said, making Mickey pause half-way through pulling his boxers up his legs. “It was a trick question. You never asked my name last night. I was just trying to poke a little fun at you.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent as he tugged on the rest of his clothes.

“I know your name, though,” Lee said. “From your nametag. So I figured it was only fair for you to know mine.”

“Well. Thanks, I guess,” Mickey mumbled as he turned back around to face Lee. “Sorry about…whatever.”

Lee furrowed his brow in confusion. “What? What do you have to be sorry for?”  
  
_So fucking much_ , Mickey thought as he patted his pockets to locate his wallet and keys. “Nothing, whatever,” he grumbled. “Look, thanks for last night. It was…”

“Good?” Lee suggested. Mickey nodded.

Lee got up from his bed, clutching some of his blankets to his body to cover up the crucial private areas, even though Mickey was pretty sure he remembered what those looked like, at least. “You don’t have to rush out, you know,” Lee said as he crossed the room, slowly approaching Mickey.

“I do,” Mickey said without thinking about it. “I mean, I got shit I gotta take care of.” He turned around and put his hand on the knob, ready to run out the very next second.

“Can I see you again?” Lee asked, making Mickey’s hand freeze before he could get out.

“I—I, uh, I—” Mickey stuttered, his heart now beating a painful rhythm on the side of his head. _Get out. Get out get out get out. Get out of here before he makes you answer_ , he told himself silently.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say yes,” Lee said. “I just want you to know…I’d be down. If you wanted to hook up again or, shit, just get another beer and chat. Whatever. Just let me know.”

“I don’t have your phone number,” Mickey said, again without even considering what he was doing before the words left his mouth. Why did he care if he didn’t have this random guy’s number? It wasn’t like he had any intention of seeing him again, anyway.

“Yeah, you do,” Lee said, and Mickey could tell without even turning around that he was smiling again. Mickey wondered if his eyes always shone when he smiled, like there was an inner light behind his irises just waiting to be switched on by joy or amusement or pleasure. “I programmed my number into your phone last night after you fell asleep. You know, just in case you left without waking me up.”

“Kind of creepy, don’t you think?” Mickey said as pivoted his head a little to glance back at Lee, who just shrugged, apparently unoffended by the question.

“Maybe,” Lee replied. “But that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

_It’s not one that I ever want to pay again_ , Mickey thought as he turned the knob and opened the door, letting the burning sunlight break across his face again. “I gotta go. Have a nice day or whatever.”

Mickey was already out in the hallway, breaking into a brisk walk that might as well have been a sprint, by the time that Lee called out, “You too!”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Mickey murmured to himself as he ran down the steps of Lee’s apartment building and hit the street. This was the first time he’d broken his own personal rule—no going home with anyone, ever—in years, and already he felt like he was being punished for it.

_It’s fine_ , he told himself as he ran the rest of the way home. _It’s not like you’re going to call him or text him or seek him out again. You’re never going to see him again. It’s fine. Don’t freak out._

***

“Mickey? You okay, man? You look like you’re freaking out about something,” said Joey the bartender, tearing Mickey’s attention away from the group of men that had just walked into the bar.

“What? Oh, nothing, it’s nothing,” Mickey said quickly as he resumed wiping down the counter. “Hey, is it okay if I take off early tonight? I need to…”

“Come up with an excuse so you can leave? Sorry, man, things have been way too busy around here. If someone throws up or spills something, I might not have time to clean it up myself,” Joey said.

“Shit. Okay,” Mickey said, ducking his head low to avoid eye contact with Lee, who was at the center of the group of men on the opposite end of the room.

_What the fuck is he doing here?_ Mickey wondered, swallowing thickly to try to clear the hard solid lump that had just appeared in the center of his throat. He tried to talk himself down, to keep himself from having a full-fledged panic episode at work, but so many questions were rising within him, making it impossible to act like this was just any other night. _Why is he here? What does he want? Does he want to fuck again? Is he some creepy stalker person? Is he mad that I haven’t texted him? Is he going to make a scene in the middle of the bar?_

“Can I get a Long Island, please?” Lee’s voice rang out somewhere to Mickey’s left. “And a pitcher of your cheapest beer for my table.”

“Sure thing, hot stuff,” Joey replied.

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of course Joey would hit on this guy. Joey never knew when to keep it in his pants.

“Hey, Mickey,” Lee said.

Mickey looked up, keenly aware that his face was already burning uncomfortably under Lee’s gaze. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone coming out much harsher and harder than he’d intended.

Lee shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing. Just wanted a couple rounds of drinks for me and my friends.”  
  
“Yeah, well, why’d you come here?” Mickey asked. “There’s lots of bars around here.”  
  
“I like this place,” Lee said. “Is that a crime?”

“Maybe,” Mickey said. _If you like it because of me, then, yes, yes, it is,_ he thought.

Lee frowned and leaned in a little closer. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I can go if you want.”

“Okay,” Mickey said.

Lee’s face fell. “Oh. Okay, then. Nice to see you again. Have a nice night.”

Before Mickey could react, Lee slapped some dollars onto the table of the bar, turned on his heel, and marched out of the bar after yelling something indistinct over to his friends.

Mickey felt a sudden tightness around his core, like there was some long reptilian creature strangling his stomach and liver and whatever else was inside of him that he never learned about in school. He looked at the door that Lee had just used to exit, staring at it for a long moment like he was expecting him to walk right back in. He didn’t.

“Shit. I’ll be right back, okay?” Mickey said, slamming his cleaning rag down on the top of the bar before leaping over it.

“Where the fuck you going, Mick?” Joey shouted after him, but Mickey just waved a hand dismissively behind him and broke into a run.

He tore out of the bar and into the steamy night, looking in every direction before he spotted Lee’s silhouette a couple blocks down. “Hey! Hey, wait! Stop!” he shouted as he ran after him.

Lee didn’t slow down or stop, and Mickey felt a surge of panic shoot through him, cold and hard and unmistakable.

“Lee! Lee, hold up!” he yelled. That did the trick. Lee froze in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around until Mickey caught up with him.

“What? What do you want? I paid my bill and I didn’t even take the drinks,” Lee pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“I know. That’s not why I—” Mickey cut himself off to pant for breath.

“Ran after me?” Lee completed for him, the shadow of a smile teasing at the edges of his mouth. “Why did you?”

“I didn’t mean to…kick you out or whatever,” Mickey said as he caught his breath. “I was being an asshole.”

Lee sighed. “I don’t know. I guess it was pretty weird of me to just show up at your place again,” he said. “Maybe I would have reacted the same way if someone did that to me.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Mickey replied immediately.

Lee cocked one eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”   
  
“I don’t know,” Mickey said. “I just get the feeling that you wouldn’t.”   
  
“You don’t know me,” Lee said. “I could be a huge asshole for all you know.”

“Nah,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “You’re not.”

Silence fell between them then, heavy with unspoken meaning as they stared at each other, blue eyes meeting brown. Mickey’s hands started itching, for some reason, although he couldn’t understand why.

“Listen, if you really want me to stay away, I will,” Lee said. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”   
  
“Why’d you come?” Mickey asked. “Why’d you come again?”

Lee stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment before answering. “I just…wanted to see you. I woke up this morning and I realized it had been a week, and I thought, okay, it’s now or never. I just knew I had to see you again before you totally forgot about me.”

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” Mickey replied.

“Well, anyway, I don’t have any good reason or whatever, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lee said. “I just wanted to see you. Simple as that.”

How could Mickey explain to him that it wasn’t simple? That it could never be simple, not when Mickey was involved? How could he tell him that there was no good reason for a sweet, smiley person like Lee to come around looking for Mickey twice in one week?

He couldn’t, not without spilling his disgustingly bloody guts all over the pavement for Lee to gawk at and examine and diagnose as dirty. _The way Ian did_ , Mickey thought, feeling his heart speed up just as he recited that name in his head. That name, that person, that feeling that made him want to throw up and cry and scream and beat something until the writing on his knuckles was illegible.

Mickey shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. “Come back in,” he finally said to Lee. “Just come back in. Enjoy some drinks with your friends.”

“What about _you_?” Lee asked. “Can I enjoy some drinks with you?”

“Not till I get off work,” Mickey said. _What the fuck?_ Mickey cursed himself as he saw the bright smile that popped up on Lee’s face in response. _Why am I fucking encouraging this dude? There’s no way this is going anywhere. It would have been nicer of me to just let him down easy._

But what was done was done. The sentence was out there, and the implication that Mickey would agree to drink with him again was, too. He couldn’t take it back now without feeling like a gigantic asshole—or, at least, like more of one than he already did.

They walked back into the bar, and Lee returned to his friends, drinking and laughing and shouting about nonsense for hours until last call arrived. Mickey had already cleaned both of the bathrooms, swept the floor, and wiped down all the chairs that weren’t currently in use, but Lee had to wait around after closing for Mickey to finish up a few things before they could talk.

“Such a hard worker,” Lee murmured as he watched Mickey organize some of the drinks behind the bar.

Mickey scoffed and shook his head. “You’re the first person to ever call me that.”   
  
“What? Really?” Lee said. “That’s, like, the first thing I ever noticed about you.”

“How could you tell that? You’ve only met me twice,” Mickey said.

“I’m observant,” Lee said with a small smile. “I pick up on things that other people miss.”  
  
“Like what?” Mickey asked, turning to face Lee head-on as he finished the last of his work.

“Like…you have a great ass, but I’m guessing you hear that one pretty often,” Lee said, glancing down at his own lap rather than meet Mickey’s eyes.

It was kind of…cute, seeing him look bashful, but Mickey could never say that out loud. “I haven’t heard it in a long time,” he admitted.

“What? Seriously? I would have guessed that thing is the money-maker,” Lee said.

“ _These_ are the money-makers,” Mickey said, stretching his hands out.

“Well, I have to say I like those, too,” Lee said. “They’re pretty talented, if you know what I mean.”

Mickey blushed as images of their night together returned to him—flashes of Lee’s ass, his cock, the way his mouth fell open when Mickey wrapped his hands around him. It made his skin turn hot, all over his body.

“Listen, you want to get out of here?” Mickey asked.

“Okay,” Lee said without hesitation. “You want to…?”

“Yeah. I do,” Mickey said. “Just let me lock up.”  
  
“Can we go to your place?” Lee asked.

Mickey sputtered for a moment, unsure of how to answer, but then Lee put his hand in the air to cut him off. “Hey. It’s okay. We can go back to mine. Just thought I’d try my luck.”

“Yeah, you like doing that, don’t you?” Mickey commented wryly as he headed out of the bar and into the darkness again with Lee.

***

“Let me get you out of these pants,” Lee murmured as he kissed the juncture of Mickey’s neck and shoulder, sending sparks of wonderful sensation down into Mickey’s bones and worn-out muscles.

“Mm, you work fast,” Mickey said. “At least let me lock your door. You don’t want someone barging in.”

Lee laughed a little and licked the side of Mickey’s neck. “Who’s going to barge in?”

Mickey’s abs clenched painfully as more memories bounced around inside his head, bright and painful and hard. “Trust me. You never know. Let’s lock up.”  
  
Lee pulled away from him a little then, staring down at him with wide, curious eyes, but he just nodded and did as Mickey asked.

“You want it on the bed?” Lee asked after locking and latching the door.

“Yes,” Mickey said. “It’s the best way.” He’d had more experience with other ways, honestly. Up against refrigerators, bleachers, walls, fences—but nothing beat a bed, the way you could relax into it, confident that your weight wasn’t too much, that you weren’t too much of a burden to be held.

In a few minutes, they were both naked and tangled up together again under Lee’s blankets, with Mickey’s hands around Lee’s waist and Lee’s up around Mickey’s neck. “Mm, you’re beautiful,” Lee whispered as he kissed Mickey’s neck again, starting below his chin and going down to his collarbone.

“Don’t say that,” Mickey replied reflexively.

“What?” Lee asked, pulling back to stare up at him in confusion.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, just keep going,” Mickey said, embarrassed that he’d said anything.

“No, I want to understand,” Lee said, frowning a little as he pulled away to hover above Mickey. “You don’t like being called beautiful? Is that some machismo thing?”

“What? No,” Mickey said. “It’s nothing. I just don’t like it, okay?”

“Why not?” Lee asked.

“Because it’s wrong for me,” Mickey said. “Is that okay? It’s just wrong.”

Lee’s forehead wrinkled in three places, making him look like an adorable little puppy dog. “It isn’t wrong. It’s just the truth. The truth can never be wrong.”   
  
Mickey snorted and disentangled his legs from Lee’s. “Yeah, right.”

“What? You don’t believe that? You don’t believe in the truth?”

“Oh, what? You’re going to tell me that the truth will set me free, all that bullshit?” Mickey asked derisively. He pulled away so that no part of his body was touching Lee’s now.

“No,” Lee said, shaking his head. “But just because something is a cliché doesn’t mean it’s not real. I’m just saying…you’re beautiful. It’s a fact. How can it be wrong to just point out the obvious?”

“Because it’s not fucking obvious!” Mickey protested. “It’s not.”

“How can you say that? You’re fucking gorgeous. I bet you get guys falling over you all the time,” Lee said.

“You’re fucking delusional,” Mickey replied. He grabbed a pillow to cover himself and scooted further away, wanting more distance between their bodies to protect himself from Lee’s penetrating gaze and his stupidly sincere words.

“So, what? You’ve been through a dry spell recently or something? That’s okay. So have I,” Lee said. “It doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful. Why the hell do you think you’re not?”

“Because of this!” Mickey yelled as he tossed the pillow away from his body and pointed at the scarred, mangled tattoo at the center of his chest. “This, okay? This fucking…this bullshit.”

Lee fell silent, his eyes narrowing as he looked where Mickey was pointing.

Mickey’s skin crawled under Lee’s scrutiny, his cells acting like they wanted to jump ship and escape this situation. But he stayed still, even though he had to shut his eyes to pretend that he was somewhere else, anywhere else, away from this adorable boy with his adorable eyes and the danger that lurked within.

“Are you happy now?” Mickey whispered. “I know I’m ugly, okay. I’ve always known it. It doesn’t fucking matter, though. Lots of people are ugly and they get along fine.”

“You’re not ugly,” Lee said. “How could you even think that?”

“I just told you,” Mickey snapped.

Lee was quiet for a while, and fear settled in around Mickey’s heart, replacing the familiar and kind of comforting anger that had crowded it moments before. “I should go,” Mickey muttered, even though his legs felt rooted to the spot like two baby trees, unwilling to part from the earth.

“Who is he?” Lee asked.

“Who’s…?”

“The guy who made you feel this way?” Lee said softly. “Who is he?”

The question made Mickey feel like his throat was full of blood, like he was drowning again, the way he’d been drowning all those years ago in Chicago, far, far away from here. This feeling was what he’d run here to get away from. This feeling was what he wanted to avoid more than anything in the world.

He needed to run, now. He needed to get up from the bed, find his clothes, and dash out into the night, away from this, away from anything that could remind him that this was the way he felt when he thought of _him_. The big capital-H “him,” the person who made him feel this way.

“He’s nobody,” he finally whispered in response to Lee’s question. In truth, he was more than one person. It wasn’t just Ian. It was someone else, too, someone else he hadn’t thought of in so long, that had made him feel this way, that had molded him into a person capable only of bitterness and self-doubt and self-hatred and all the other million useless things their various words and actions had crammed into his head. “Nobody,” he said again.

“Okay,” Lee said, surprising him. He’d expected him to push, to keep going until Mickey felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, teetering off to fall into the great ocean of truth that waited to consume him whole. “Let’s just go to sleep, okay? Is that all right? Can we do that?”

Mickey didn’t know. He still felt like running, but then Lee’s arms wrapped around him again, tugging him down lower until his head rested on one of the pillows. Lee’s hand came up to cradle the side of Mickey’s face, and it almost felt like being punched, like having his nose broken, like being spit on and violated and abused, the way he had been so many times in the past.

But it was different. Lee was different. Mickey could see that now. Lee wasn’t interested in pushing him, or judging him, or shoving him away. For right now, at least, Lee only wanted to hold him close, to cuddle him with his warmth until Mickey was on the edge of sleep.

“You’re beautiful,” Mickey thought he heard Lee whisper, right when he was about to slip off into the darkness of dream. “You’re so fucking beautiful. And I’m going to keep telling you until you believe it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mickey mumbled without thinking about it. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be another chapter of this when I get a chance.


End file.
